Food Is The Enemy
by thesoundofsunshine
Summary: Everything is wrong. I have this disease. I can't eat. If I could stop, I would, but then I would get fat. So, maybe I'll never stop this. I can't relapse. Food makes you fat. I can't afford to get fat. Nobody digs on a chubby boy.


**I meant to finish this and upload it before the Rumours episode, but we all see how that worked out. So, with that in mind, it doesn't really have the character development we've seen in Sam during Rumours. Anyway, I've been swamped with school. Then, add a social life and work and sleep into the mix. It left me with literally no time to finish this.**

**Disclaimer: I only play with the characters that RIB has created.**

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><p>The room started spin in the middle of their rehearsal for Rachel's Barbravention. He hardly had the time to brace himself before he blacked out, his body hitting the ground with an awful thud.<p>

_Crap. They're all going to suspect something now. You need to pull yourself together, Evans._

He slowly came back to life, as Finn was babbling about how they should be calling 911 in a situation like this. He licked his lips, not leveling Quinn and Mercedes curious glances. It was like they knew. He couldn't deal with that right now.

"Froggy lips, we actually have work to get done, if you're done blacking out on us," Santana snapped, as he picked his head up off of Brittany's lap, where her fingers were tangled in his hair.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Brittany giggled, as Puck extended an arm down to Sam.

"Thanks," Sam said, as Puck nearly pulled him up. He closed his eyes as a rush of blood flew to his head, instantly making him lightheaded.

"We should take a break," Kurt reasoned, seeing as how the rehearsal was just about killing Sam.

"Yes! Food!" Finn shouted, pumping his fist in the air. He pulled out a footlong sandwich from his backpack and started devouring it.

_Ugh. Food. It makes me sick just thinking of it. Food is calories. Calories are fat. And, I can't be fat._

"Want some of my sandwich?" Finn asked, around the said sandwich that he was chewing.

"No," Sam spat out, trying not to sound as repulsed as he felt, "I don't like turkey."

"It's ham," Finn matter-of-factly said, waving the sandwich in Sam's face. He frowned as some pieces of lettuce abandoned sub.

"I don't really like sandwiches," Sam backpedalled, just wanting Finn to get off his case.

"Well, what do you like?" Quinn innocently asked, "They have a buffet over there. I could grab you something when I go up."

"I had a really big breakfast," Sam lied, seeing as how he was now caught in this neverending web of lies to cover up the fact that he hasn't eaten more than a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos in the past two days.

"Suit yourself," Quinn said, as she cut in the line next to Mercedes.

The two of them drew their heads close before trying to nonchalantly look over at Sam. It wasn't so nonchalant, since he instantly felt their judgmental eyes.

"Aren't you hungry?" Finn asked, only left with the handle part of his sandwich left, "I'm always hungry."

Sam shook his head, not quite sure if his tongue would disobey him by spilling the truth.

By this time, Kurt had joined the Mercedes and Quinn gossip station. He knew they were talking about him because every now and then he would catch one of them looking directly at him.

"Hey man," Puck said, roughly smacking Sam's shoulder, causing the lightweighted boy to stumble forward, "Feeling better?"

"Yeah," Sam said, wringing his hands in the most awkward way, "I'm not sure what passed over me."

"I think I may have an idea," Kurt said, as Sam whipped around to see Kurt flanked by Quinn and Mercedes, "You're coming to sit with us, Sam."

Kurt's words weren't a question, or even a request, it was a flat out demand that Sam obeyed.

_There's so much food. Food is the enemy. It only makes you fat. Don't you dare give in, Evans._

Mercedes made close to a sex noise as she marveled at the slice of pizza that she had, "This is the best pizza ever. Anyone want a bite?"

Quinn and Kurt eagerly bit into her pizza, eyes rolling back with subtle moans. Mercedes held the pizza out to Sam, "You have to try this."

Sam slowly opened his mouth, allowing the pizza in, just to humor his friends. It would be too obvious it he just flat out objected. Or, that's what his reasoning came up with. As he was chewing, the other part of his mind, was telling him that bit of pizza probably had more than two-hundred calories. He would need to run a ten minute mile to even think about counteracting the calories he had taken in.

_I told you not to give in. And, what did you do? You gave in. You'll never be able to burn those calories off._

"Isn't it good?" Mercedes asked, as Sam half-heartedly nodded in agreement.

Quinn and Kurt exchanged a series of confused glances, since they were so sure that Sam was starving himself.

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><p>"Shit, Sam, you can't keep doing this to yourself," Finn said, as Sam had another blackout session at a spring football cardio workout.<p>

"It's just hot and I'm pushing myself too much," Sam said, as Puck handed him a water bottle.

"Just take it easy," Puck said, punching Sam in the arm, before joining the rest of the football team with their laps.

"Are you okay, dude?" Finn asked, his words shaking as they came out. He wasn't sure what to expect Sam to say, but it was almost a given that Finn wouldn't know how to help.

_No, I'm not okay. I'm sick. There's something wrong in my head._

"I'm good," Sam said, chugging down some of the water than Puck had brought him, wondering if maybe he needed more than an apple to get through these practices.

"Alright, maybe you should sit out for a bit," Finn suggested, as Sam jumped up, eager to lose more calories.

_Nobody digs on a chubby boy. I need to lose the weight that I gain because I don't have the metabolism of Finn, who could eat anything and stay fit. Lucky._

"No, I'm good, let's go," Sam said, sprinting ahead of Finn to catch up with the rest of the pack.

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><p>"Sam, where did you go?" Kurt asked, walking into a Glee practice, "We were going to have lunch."<p>

"I wasn't feeling well," Sam lied, knowing perfectly well that a variety of stomach bugs kept his mom off his case for a bit.

_Well, that's sort of the truth. I felt sick to my stomach about the thought of you guys force feeding me again. It took me an hour of constant working out to feel better about how I look after the damn bite of pizza._

"Are you feeling better now?" Mercedes asked, rifling through her backpack, "I think I have a bag of chips leftover."

"No, I had a granola bar from the nurse," Sam said, knowing that the nurse gave our granola bars and Gatorade for upset stomachs.

"You'd tell me if something was wrong, right?" Kurt lowered his voice, leaning dangerously close.

_Everything is wrong. I have this disease. I can't eat. Food makes you fat. I can't afford to get fat._

"Yeah," Sam just about squawked, before repeating with more confidence in his voice, "Yeah."

"That's all I ask," Kurt said, walking over to where Rachel was prepping Brad for her vocal performance.

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><p>"Alright, guys, that's a wrap for today," Mr. Schue said, as they finished Born This Way, "See you all on Monday."<p>

"Hey Sam!" Finn called out, as Sam tried to escape to the gym, "Are you coming to Breadstix with us?"

"Nah," Sam said, going through his mental rolodex of excuses, "I've got some family thing."

"Bummer, man," Finn said, as Mercedes hesitantly made her way over towards Sam.

"I know. Maybe next week," Sam said, even though he knew there would be no next week or the week after that. Breadstix had far too many calories to even think about.

"Sit, white boy," Mercedes ordered, as Sam took a seat on the edge of the stage. Mercedes plopped right next to him.

_This feels like it's going to get serious. I'm not really ready for serious. I'll never be ready for serious._

They waited for everyone to leave the auditorium. Kurt and Quinn were the last ones out with lingering looks at the couple still sitting on the stage.

"When was the last time you ate?" Mercedes rushed out, making sure that her words didn't get caught in her throat.

"I told you, I had a granola bar at lunch," Sam quipped, quick to defend his eating habits, or lack thereof. He noticed the pointed look from Mercedes, before hastily spitting out, "I told you that I wasn't feeling well."

"Look, I don't know why you're doing this to yourself –"

_I have a problem. I don't find counting calories and excessively working out as_ fun_. If I could stop, I would, but then I would get fat. So, maybe I'll never stop this. I can't relapse._

"I'm not doing anything," Sam protested, before Mercedes could even finish her sentence.

"Sam, just listen," Mercedes said, waiting for a nod from him, before continuing, "Last year, before your transfer, I was a Cheerio."

She swallowed hard, "I don't look like most cheerleaders, so Coach Sylvester demanded that I lose weight."

Sam opened his mouth, only to be given a harsh look of 'shut up' from Mercedes.

"I fainted from some ridiculous crash-diet," Mercedes said, a soft smile finding its way onto her face, "Quinn was the one who helped me realize that I was beautiful, regardless of my size."

"But –"

"Now," Mercedes loudly said, to overpower Sam's meek interjection, "You are not, by any means, obese. In fact, I think it would help if you gained a few pounds."

_If I gain a few pounds, I'll be obese. And, nobody likes a chubby boy. Well, Karofsky did have Santana now. No! Nobody likes a fat boy._

"I don't think that my life is up to you," Sam harshly said, jumping off of the stage, getting a fast rush of blood from the movement.

"Sam, you need help!" Mercedes shouted, catching him as he swayed, "I am not going to let you emaciate yourself to the point where you _die_ from hunger."

"I'm not trying to kill myself. I'm trying to stay thin," Sam said, as if he was justifying a difference between his sentences.

"I'm not asking that you magically start eating full meals all the time. I'm just asking that you don't limit yourself to an apple for lunch or something," Mercedes said, resting a hand on Sam's shoulder, "Look, I bet that you haven't had ice cream in a while."

_Ice cream? It's empty calories full of sugar, which instantaneously turns to fat. Ice cream is horrible for a person._

Sam contorted his face in disgust, as Mercedes leaned closer, "You remember ice cream, right? It's cold. Flavored in the best way. It's so delicious. And, it's perfect for a warm spring day like this one. What do you say?"

"Can I get lowfat ice cream?" Sam asked with a smirk. Mercedes chuckled, linking their arms together.

"Only if you eat," Mercedes wagered, as they started their walk out of the auditorium, "Hell, I'll even pay."

"This really isn't necessary," Sam protested, as Mercedes just smiled.

"I'm just assuring that we don't lose you before Nationals," Mercedes joked, as Sam opened the auditorium doors to the hallway to lead them through.

"I promise to make it to Nationals," Sam earnestly said, honestly locking eyes with Mercedes as their walk slowed, "And, much, much further than Nationals."

_What are you talking about? You can't rid of me that easily. I'm like a leech._

"Thank you, Mercedes," Sam said, leaning into hug the diva of the group.

_It may take a while to slay the monster, but I _will_ get rid of you._

"No problem, Sam," Mercedes said, as the odd couple walked out into the cooling spring evening.

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><p><strong>Gah! To be honest, I wasn't sure how to end this, so I hope that I did an alright job tying it all together.<strong>


End file.
